


Summary

by AlternativeUniversal



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Bloodbath City, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: ? - Freeform, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Fan Characters, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Original Character(s), Self-Harm, Spoilers, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 01:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14461791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlternativeUniversal/pseuds/AlternativeUniversal
Summary: A young boy monologues his life story.(This is part of a fan-project for Danganronpa that started as an OC Killing Game roleplay, but has plans for becoming a web-comic series! This work is also un-beta'd, so if you like this fic and want to help proof-read my stuff then please HMU!)





	Summary

My name is Saitou Hibiki. I'm 17 years old, I attend Hope's Peak Academy, and...well...  
I'm the Ultimate Delinquent. I earned this title not too long ago, and I'm pretty proud of it. But...I wouldn't have gotten it if it weren't for a good friend of mine.

You see, this all starts way back, with my parents. They raised me well - too well - and told me that I should do anything, for anyone, selflessly; no matter the request, I should offer my services with a humble smile. They wanted me to work as a public servant, or (as they put it) a peacekeeper. According to their sick beliefs, I was on a path to becoming the sole reason for world peace. Wars would stop in my wake, and everyone would forever be in debt for things they cannot, should not repay.  
So I started work from a young age. I think my first job was at around...10 or 11? I didn't miss any school, and I worked from home in my dad's old study room, but eventually I grew to start catching train after train; visiting one boring workplace to the next; somehow getting grade As on certain exam papers (that I won't describe) despite missing half of my school days. People always brag about missing school - maybe from an illness, or a holiday trip abroad to a fancy country where the weather is nice and everyone cheers out in unconditional welcome as you arrive at the airport - but to me every day was an off-day. Heck, my mental illnesses started taking over my life, but I had to work no matter what.

  
My only release...was to stop living.

  
I remember this next memory really well: better than I remember my first kiss, or my most recent birthday. I was walking home from work one day, with a stack of papers in my hands. It had recenty stopped raining, so I took this chance to leave the train station and start heading home before another possible downpour ruined my forced plans. As I turned a corner, a loud, rumbling noise appeared from behind me, and it started getting louder very quickly...and I soon found out the source of this noise, as a large gang of bikers passed me without a care for how it might affect my fragile luggage. The papers flew to the sky, like white doves amongst an atmosphere of obnoxious, black smoke, and it was...pretty cliche, to say the least.

  
I fumbled around trying to pick them up as the feral pack of bikers drove away. I managed to collect some here and there, but most of them landed in a puddle. As tears started to burn into the corners of my eyes, a deep voice alerted me to a stranger's prescence. He stood in front of my kneeling self, with some more of my papers herded together in his arms, and everything felt so...surreal. His voice was dominant and threatening, but his tone was calm and caring - concerned, even. I quickly identified him as one of the bikers, who had (for whatever reason) pitied me enough to stop in his path and turn around to help me. He opposite to a wolf in sheep's clothing; a light brown pompadour adorned his head, and an oversized leather jacket draped across his tan skin. His eyes were ice, but his heart was warmer than a housefire.  
(Note: I could physically feel the warmth radiating off of him, but...now that I think about it, that was probably just the feeling of hot blood rushing to my face. No wonder he offered me a ride home - he probably thought I had a bad fever.)

  
From then on, I practically dedicated my life to him. Life...felt hopeful again, and whenever I looked at him the world slowed down. I changed myself for him, getting a new hairstyle and avoiding my work, just so I could hang out with him and his gang. He taught me how to ride a motorbike, and he held me close from behind every time I practiced -  so he could re-take control and stop his bike from getting damaged in the case of an emergency, he said. Other times, I was the one at the back, hollering at the top of my lungs as we rode down to the local hang-outs at break-neck speeds.  
I comforted him countless times. If he got into any bad fights, I was there to wipe away the blood and bruises. If he suffered from a case of his survivor's guilt after a particular accident, I clung to him and whispered positive things to him - the types of things I'd always pictured him saying to me whenever I wanted to leave this existence. We had each other's backs.

  
Until...

  
Life...ceased to feel like a fairytale. He and the rest of his classmates disappeared, the only traces of them being seen through a TV screen. A live broadcast of their deaths, as each of them fighted for a life they couldn't even remember.  
I continued to skip school, and to avoid my work, just so I could watch TV. I didn't bother styling my hair, or even taking a shower, because I only cared about his safety. I only slept when he slept, and some nights I didn't even sleep at all. I've never been able to maintain a healthy sleeping schedule since.  
Then, that day arrived. He killed someone, so he could keep a secret - a secret that got revealed anyway. All of the curtains in my room were drawn, obscuring everything but the TV's inhuman glow in darkness; it was just me and him, together but unable to communicate or touch. No matter how hard I cried out, he couldn't hear me.  
I lost the love of my life. I watched it all with wide, shaking eyes, sweat and drool dripping from my face. My throat was aching for release from all the screaming I did, and once it was all over the only things I could feel were the crippling emptiness in my heart and the agonising heat in my mind. I didn't even notice the blood that dripped from my arm and onto the carpet flooring below, after I'd dug my nails into the flesh subconsciously. I reckoned that if I couldn't feel physical pain too well, then I'd be able to avoid the psychological pain by opening the door to the afterlife and walking right on through. Maybe, I thought, I'd meet him there...

  
Rope has such an uncomfortable texture to it. I much prefer blades, or anything sharp, really. The sharper it is, the less you even notice the sting - you only notice the temperature in your body drop, as you inch closer to death with every pearl of red that blossoms from your wounds. Every time I woke up in a hospital bed, I'd rip the IV out of my arm and yell at the nurses until I was walking around on concrete streets again.I think it took 3 attempts in total before I came to a sudden realisation that changed me forever.

  
I should be celebrating his life, not mourning his death.  
If nobody was gonna care about him outside of the killing game, then I'd just have to provide each and every cold-hearted bastard in society with solid evidence - proving my point to them all, and making them see him for who he really is.

 

There it is: that's how I got my Ultimate title. I'm running out of pages to write, seems like I had a lot to say about this whole thing. I've been using this diary since I was first accepted into the Crazy Diamonds, and now...I think I can say that I've come pretty far since then. It was certainly an experience I'd want to go through again, but...that'd mean I'd have to feel everything I wrote in those middle pages again, too. Some things are better off being left in the past, right?  
I'm never gonna forget those memories, but...I have to move on. I'm no longer attached to the strings of any businesses - I'm a real boy! I'm not a puppet or a tool, but I'm also not worthless. I'm going to fight my corner.  
Which is why I have to burn this book. If people find any of the things I wrote in here, my weaknesses will be exploited again. I'm starting a new life; hopefully I'll make some new friends, and save enough money to buy that bike I've always wanted.  
Most importantly, I want to make him proud. I'm sure he's watching over me now, and will continue to do so as I pour this bottle of lighter fluid all over these papers. Maybe he'll even applaud for me. I'm sure he'll be saving a seat for me in heaven, whenever the time to join him comes.

Thanks for reading, nobody! Saitou Hibiki, signing out.  
XX

**Author's Note:**

> I've poured my heart and soul into this character's backstory...if you're from the rp group and you're reading this rn, hello!!! Feel free to request fics of your characters in the comments, ya nerds uwu


End file.
